


A Little Kindness

by Fyre



Series: A Little Kindness [3]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Slow Show - mia_ugly
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene, SHUSH, Yes I'm doing fic for fic of a novel that was based on Dante's fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:53:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22588195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: After his first encounter with Anthony Crowley, Avery Fell came to a decision.
Series: A Little Kindness [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628107
Comments: 70
Kudos: 250
Collections: Slow Show Metaverse





	A Little Kindness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mia_ugly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mia_ugly/gifts).



> Once upon a time, this idiot went and read [Slow Show](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20395261/chapters/48375457), mia_ugly's epic Good Omens "they were co-stars" AU. This idiot was totally fine and not at all emotionally compromised over a hanky.

“Well!” Tracy declared as soon as the taxi moved off. “Can I just say I’m bloody glad I didn’t pay money to see that.”

Avery chuckled. “It was rather… trite, wasn’t it?”

As usual, they’d done the mingling and shoulder-rubbing after the film, but there were only so many little white lies Tracy would tell before her real opinion of the films in question leaked out. Usually after her fourth G&T, which was also her signal that she’d schmoozed to her limits and her feet were killing her.

She made a face, wrinkling her nose. “That’s the trouble with going to these first night things, isn’t it? No reviews. Never know how bad we’re going to get it.”

“Are you complaining about a free night out with free plonk?” he inquired, eyes dancing.

She tucked herself comfortably against his side, wrapping her arm around his. “Nah. I’ll take whatever free stuff comes my way. You know that.” She slipped her shoes off and waggled her toes. “Christ knows how those girls manage to stay upright on those things all night.”

Some, Avery thought, suddenly and sharply, didn’t.

He almost reached for his pocket, for the balled-up handkerchief. Lord, what on earth had he been thinking? Not simply invading the man’s personal space like that, but patting him down – probably a little too thoroughly as well – like some kind of fussy mother hen.

Admittedly, a mother hen probably wouldn’t have lingered, startled by the sudden staccato beat of Anthony Crowley’s heart and warm skin against their palm.

“I’ll fill your foot spa for you when get in,” he said. “Little bit of lavender and everything.”

She swatted his arm fondly. “Oh, I say, Mr. Fell, you do know how to spoil a girl.”

He squeezed her arm with a smile, gazing out into the chilly night, the street lights shimmering, reflected on the damp pavements. Neon and sharp and crystal bright. And for some reason he couldn’t put his finger on, bringing to mind that cut-glass face and shock of vermillion hair.

“That Mr. Crowley seems nice, doesn’t he?”

Sometimes, just occasionally, usually after he’d had one too many – not tonight, though, he was very careful of that. Enough wine on his handkerchief already – he wondered if perhaps ‘Madame Tracy’ could actually read minds. Of course, logically, he knew she couldn’t. She just… had a knack of picking up on his thoughts as if she’d pulled them out of from behind his ear.

“Mm.”

“Mm?” She nudged him. “You’ve been talking my ear off for _weeks_ and now, that’s all I get?”

He glanced at her with a small, wry smile. “I barely exchanged a dozen words with him. It’s not as if I can really get a measure of him in five minutes.”

She raised her eyebrows and given the pencilling work she’s done, that takes them almost all the way to her hairline. “A dozen words?” She snorted. “Don’t think you’ve ever limited yourself to that in a sentence, let alone a conversation.”

He laughed. “Fair point,” he agreed. “He’s…” He frowned, glancing down at Tracy’s hand over his. “I’m not sure. He’s… not what I expected, you know.”

“Bad boy reputation preceding him?”

Avery nodded. He hadn’t expected the guarded, brittle hostility, like a wary wounded animal lashing out, anticipating someone turning on him and trying to attack first. And when that faltered, one domino after another, sharpness giving way to confused, uncertain wide-eyed stares. He looked younger and suddenly, much more vulnerable.

And all because Avery had spoken of his past work, of his talent, of the good things he had done. Yes, Anthony Crowley was a legend for his misbehaviour and fall from grace, but Avery remembered _him_ and his performances, not those awful, virulent headlines.

“I think it must be a lot of pressure,” he murmured. “Coming back to his career. Especially with the... expectations people have.”

Tracy nodded. “Poor man. No wonder.” She gave his arm a squeeze. “If he’s a nice as he seems, you should bring him round for dinner.”

He met her eyes. “Is this so you can embarrass me?” he teased. “Blabbing all about how keen I am to work with him?”

She batted her long lashes at him. “I can’t help it if I’m a naturally honest person, can I, Az?”

“That’s a yes, then?”

She pressed a warm kiss to his cheek. “That’s a guarantee, chick.”

By the time they got home, Tracy was too worn out to even bother with the foot spa. As soon as her face was off, she kissed the top of his head in passing and tottered off to bed. Avery turned on the seat, watching her go.

Only then did he pull out the wine-stained handkerchief.

It was ridiculous! Hiding it from her, as if he had something to conceal? Why do that?

And yet…

And yet, he didn’t want to think of the way Crowley’s bright brown eyes had widened in astonishment and the way the man’s heart thundered against his palm. No. That was a lie. He _wanted_ to think about it. He oughtn’t, but he did, and if he’d told her about the spillage and the handkerchief, everything else would have come pouring out as well.

He turned the cloth over in his hand, mostly dry now, and stained deeply purple.

His first encounter with a man he had admired – perhaps even idolised a little – and he had ended up with his hands all over him. And he had felt the man’s heart thump and dear God, it was astonishing he hadn’t made a fool of himself sooner, if that was how he was going to behave.

There had to be a polite distance. There _had_ to be. It wouldn’t do to indulge a silly crush from years ago. Looking, not touching. That was – and had always been – his watchword. One had to keep up appearances after all.

Not just for himself, though.

Not when Crowley snarled and bit and subsided when offered a little kindness.

Was that what being stripped bared and thrown to the wolves did to you? Crowley expected animosity and anger and every awful thing. He had almost flinched in anticipation of a blow, as if expecting his carefully-gathered dignity would be torn away from him again. And no small wonder, when they had chewed him up to bones and gristle, only leaving him be when he was tattered scraps on the ground.

He deserved kindness, someone who had dealt with all that. Who had dealt with the stoning from the press. Words in place of rocks, scathing, bitter, and no less brutal.

Avery touched his cheek, remembering. Scars – visible or not – were always there.

If Crowley anticipated hurt, then Avery would do anything and everything in his power to remove that fear. If they were going to work together, the least he could do was support his co-star. And a little kindness was hardly a trial, not at all.

Avery smoothed out his handkerchief between his palms and sighed. It would be silly and sentimental to keep it the way it was. Hoarding a good deed, as if that was the only reason. Reluctantly, he went through to the kitchen and put it in the sink to soak. Merlot bled into the water, swirling and red once more.

It was just a little kindness, he told himself, pushing the cloth under and holding it there. That was all.


End file.
